


Fed Is Best

by tinknevertalks



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Breastfeeding, Breastfeeding anxiety, Gen, New mum Helen, Past Montague John Druitt/Helen Magnus, Pre-Series, baby Ashley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-29 20:53:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18301745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinknevertalks/pseuds/tinknevertalks
Summary: At five days postpartum, Helen has to face some realities.





	Fed Is Best

**Author's Note:**

> Oh look, it's another, 'Rachel works through her own issues by transferring them to Helen Magnus,' fic. #SorryNotSorry Anyways, I gave birth on the 19th, and I've been in a haze of baby and family visits and feeding and thinking, "Who's let me have another kid?!" Again, like the previous pregnant!Helen fic, this isn't a happy one (one day, I will write a happy, fluffy, Helen and baby!Ashley fic, but today is not that day). This is also a Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt response - Cradling someone in their arms.
> 
> Unbeta'd, so any mistakes are mine and mine alone. (If you find any, let me know.)

“You're hovering,” Helen muttered to the Big Guy, as he dusted the shelves of her office for the second time that day. “I told you, I'm fine.”

“Huh,” he grunted, clearly not believing a word out of her mouth.

Barely looking up from her report, she said, “Really, I am. Ashley's down after a feed and I'm fine.”

“You're working,” he explained finally. “Should be resting.”

Helen shook her head. “No, I have far too much energy to be resting.” She shrugged. “And if I don't do this now, who else will?” Smiling dismissively, she added, “I'm perfectly alright.”

\--

Ashley wailed again, her cries drilling through Helen's head, making her heart ache. It was after 3am when she'd woken for her feed, and Helen just couldn't stomach the thought of… anything concerning her child. She wanted desperately to hold her close, keep her safe, have her as far away from her as possible. 

Who was she kidding? She couldn't be a mother, how could she countenance something so egotistical? Everything hurt so much.

Another wail, weaker this time. Helen could hear the diminishing strength and started bawling. “Please, Ashley darling,” she pleaded, picking her up from the Moses basket next to her bed and holding her gingerly close to her. “I can't feed you if you're crying. The midwife said we have to be calm when I feed you. And you-- you-- you have to stop crying.” Stroking Ashley's bright red cheek, and blinking away her own huge, fat tears, Helen pushed her own feelings aside as she put squalling Ashley on her bed. Unbuttoning her nightshirt and moving to make herself comfortable, dread washed through her. Even though she knew she had to do this, Helen wanted nothing more than a _bona fide_ wet nurse to knock on her door and take over feeding, or a crab to cut off her nipples without anaesthetic.

Anything would be better than having Ashley on her breast again. Steeling herself, she waited on tenterhooks for her to latch, praying everything would work, that the -- 

A small scream tore from her throat as Ashley suckled, her little hand resting on Helen's breast, Helen's heart racing as she tried to control herself. Breathing deeply, she fixated on a corner of her room, counting to thirty, praying for the pain to lessen, for that wondrous moment when she’d feel the calm all other mums said they felt as they fed their child.

It never came.

When Ashley finally finished her feed, it was all Helen could do to put her back in the Moses basket before collapsing back into bed. The shocks of pain travelling along her back and shoulder blades concentrated in hot pin pricks that screamed to be soothed but no-one was there to do it.

She just couldn't do that again. How had women done that for so long? Glancing at the clock, her heart broke. She only fed for ten minutes? It had felt like a lifetime. Unbidden, the fat, burning tears of shame and guilt rolled down her cheeks again. In less than two hours she'd be awake again, wanting more milk, and Helen just couldn’t see how she’d be able to do it.

Three hours later, still sore, Helen picked Ashley out of the Moses basket, trying to be excited about the smacking lips and moving hands, putting off the moment she had to open her shirt.

What would she have done had she had Ashley when biology dictated? Would she have this difficulty breastfeeding? Would she be this unhappy? And, as much as she loathed it, her thoughts also turned to John. Would he have been supportive? Would he have helped with nappies? Would he have wrapped his arms around her, comforted her as she fed Ashley, murmuring how wonderful a mother she was? Did she even want that?

Settling Ashley against her, Helen's eyelids drooped. She'd feed her in a minute, she just needed to wake up properly.

Two hours later, Helen jolted awake, arms full of sleeping Ashley. “Bloody hell,” she breathed, putting her daughter onto the mattress. Rubbing her face, she mentally tallied the hours between feeds, swearing when she realised her five day old daughter had slept five hours without waking for a feed, eight if she ignored the ten minute ( _torture session_ ) suckle. “Bloody, bloody hell.”

She couldn't do this. It wasn't fair on Ashley. Creeping out of her bed, she picked up the telephone, dialled, hung up. No. She could do this. Women had been breastfeeding since the dawn of time, she could do it. “Good morning, Ashley,” she murmured, trying to keep the sadness from her voice as she picked her up. “Time for breakfast.”


End file.
